


tuesday morning

by followsrabbit



Series: together again [2]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 22:45:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followsrabbit/pseuds/followsrabbit
Summary: Noora needs clothes. William offers his.





	tuesday morning

“William?”

Noora stares at herself in the full length mirror hanging against William’s closet door. She holds the outfit she wore to Eva’s party (four days ago now) up against her shoulders, tilts her head, and wrinkles her nose. She is not the girl who shows up to school on a Tuesday—after skipping a _whole day of classes_ to laze around in bed with her boyfriend—in an outfit she wore last Friday. Let alone a wrinkled outfit. A wrinkled outfit that she might have dripped salad dressing on yesterday.

(She isn’t supposed to be the girl who skips class at all, not for a boyfriend.)

(But she’s been the girl she used to think she was supposed to be for months now. Independent and guarded and alone. She’s been _miserable_ as that girl since William. Maybe she’s never been happy that way, only—acclimated.)

William returns from the bathroom a second later, his toned chest bare, his dark jeans hanging around his hips, and his brown hair wet. His eyes still memorizing her, unless she’s projecting.

“I need to stop by my flat on our way to school,” she says, slumps.

He strides over to her, wraps his arms around her waist, and presses his lips into her hair. She arcs her head back against him, even though she shouldn’t. Even though it took an absurd amount of time to tear themselves apart from each other and out of bed this morning. Even though she has to get to school today, if only to let her friends know that all is well with her.

Without thinking about it, Noora turns her head to reach William’s lips with her own.

(All is perfect. To a cliche degree.)

“Now?” William murmurs into her hair.

Waving her days-old outfit in front of him, Noora reorients. Tries to focus _._ “I can’t wear this to school.”

She can feel his shrug against her shoulder blades. “Then don’t go.” His fingertips skim their way from her hips to her bare thighs as he scrolls his lips along her right earlobe. Nips. “Stay.”

Letting Friday’s clothes fall to the ground, Noora allows her hands to fall too, twining them around William’s. “I stayed yesterday.”

She could have heard the smile in his voice, even if the mirror didn’t give it away. “You’ve been a truant for one day, try committing to it.”

“William.”

“Noora.”

“I need clothes.”

He slants his eyes down to the t-shirt—one of his—hanging from her shoulders, then raises both eyebrows.

She rolls her eyes, even as she presses her lips together to keep from smiling at his faux-bemusement. “Other than your t-shirt.”

“I like you in my t-shirts.”

So does she. So not the point. The point is-- “You’re such a cliché.”

Still smiling, William nods. “You like me for that.” And _he’s right_ , clearly, because, when he walks all of a few feet away into his closet, she stretches out one arm to keep her hand in his.  _Such_ a cliché.

Tilting her head, Noora squints after him. “You realize I don’t have clothes in there.” He doesn’t really either. Most of his wardrobe is still stacking the drawers and shelves of a London penthouse flat, but he left a few simple things here for visits, and has a completely over-packed suitcase to fill in the gaps.

(When she first saw his giant suitcase three nights ago, Noora had teased him,  _Are you sure you’re just here for a visit?_ To which he’d answered,  _No_. At which point she’d stopped teasing.)

It’s from that suitcase that he finds a pair of trousers, from a hanger that he grabs a button-up shirt. He tosses both to her.

“You want me to wear your clothes to class?” She eyes him skeptically.

He leans down to kiss her before answering. “Why not?”

And she really won’t make it to school on time if she ends up seeing Eskild at home—he’ll want to know _everything_ about the last few days—so…

Noora puts one foot into the trousers, then the other.

* * *

“I look ridiculous,” Noora tells him a few minutes later, once she’s belted the trousers and buttoned the shirt. She plays with its hem. She’s honestly too happy to care about how clearly well-fucked she looks right now--it’s _really_ clear--but wants to make her messiness seem a bit like a fashion choice anyway. Personal standards.

William laces his fingers through hers again, and tugs her to his chest. Her spare palm splays across its hard plane. “You don’t.” His free arm hooks around her waist as his curved lips slide against hers. “You look fucking sexy.”

“You only think so because they’re your clothes, William.”

He blinks, and could maybe pass for the picture of innocence if not for the last… however many hours they just spent in bed together. “Yes. And they’re fucking sexy on you.”

By the time they make it out the door, Noora has given up on trying to keep her hair in anything more than a messy ponytail. She’s already had to redo it twice, and William is already playing with its ends again.

She’ll probably have to redo it a third time.

She still can’t stop smiling.


End file.
